


something wrong in the village

by itsmyusualphannie (itsmyusualweeb)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - High School, Coming Out, Enemies to Friends, Festivals, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Online Friendship, Pining, Trans Phil Lester, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmyusualweeb/pseuds/itsmyusualphannie
Summary: Fiona Lester has a secret. Dan Howell thinks they hate each other.Dan meets an online friend and comes to realize something important about himself while juggling changing relationships with his parents, friends, and Fiona.
Relationships: Dan Howell & Phil Lester, Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 42
Kudos: 64
Collections: Phandom Writers Discord 2019 Holiday Gift Exchange





	1. genesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kamunamis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamunamis/gifts).



> this was written for the phandom discord server's holiday gift fic exchange. kei's prompt, which asked for enemies-to-lovers, online mistaken identities, and someone to be trans, spiralled into so much more than i had originally planned. [kei](https://sudden-sky.tumblr.com/), you said the phandom needed more trans dan or phil, and you are goddamn right. i hope you like your gift fic. happy holidays you little nerd, i love you.
> 
> huge thanks to [cal](https://candanandphilnot.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this, being my cheerleader, and letting me hurl ideas off them. i don't want to know what this fic would be like without their help.

"Mr Howell, are you with us today?"

The voice broke through Dan's concentration on his sketchbook and he glanced up, meeting the cool gaze of his English teacher. "Uh," he said. He didn't set down the pencil gripped in one hand. "Yeah."

His seat juddered as the person sitting behind him kicked it. Dan's pencil, the tip still set to the sketchbook, skidded across the paper and left an angry scrawl across his rough sketch of a drum set. Dan could _feel_ the smirk of the person sitting behind him. He fumed, but had to do so silently as his teacher cast him one last glance before turning back toward the board.

"As I mentioned, _Dan_ , we're reviewing parenthetical citation today, since everyone's essay is due next week. Can anyone tell me how in-text citation for MLA format is used in research essays…?" Her voice faded into the background as Dan focused back onto his sketchbook.

He scribbled ineffectively with his eraser at the deep gash carved into the paper for a few long moments, then pursed his lips and stared down at the ruined sketch. Finally, he let out a slow breath and reached for the corner of the page. This barely-begun sketch was completely ruined now. His fingers rustled against the edge of the paper and he lifted it, trying his best to avoid any more attention from his teacher, but his chair was kicked _again_ , and Dan almost ripped the paper as he jumped. He hastily flipped the paper over to a new page and hissed over his shoulder, "Stop it, you dick."

There was no response, but it was a smug silence. Dan was almost at the back of the classroom, so the person sitting behind him was in the very back and had little regard for the teacher, anyway.

Dan held still for a good minute, but no other kicks jarred him. Cautiously, he lowered his pencil to the blank, full-of-potential paper, and outlined a swift cylinder. He had just begun to add a matching cylinder, the next drum in the set, when another kick, the most ferocious all day, shook his seat. Dan dropped his pencil and clenched a fist. " _Cut it out_ ," he snarled.

This time, the person just laughed, a quiet, mocking thing.

Dan considered his options. He could, a) Raise his hand, politely tell the teacher, politely be told off because _Dan_ was disturbing the class, and be sent to the principal when he inevitably snapped at the teacher; or he could, b) Very carefully place his sketchbook, pencil, and various class materials into his backpack so he wouldn't get them mussed, very carefully slide out of his seat, and then very carefully place a well-aimed punch to the cheek of the asshole behind him, and _then_ be sent to the principal, but with a much more fulfilled feeling in his chest.

Dan _did_ take his time weighing these options, but the second option was ultimately decided for him when said asshole's shoe thudded into his chair again. Dan very carefully collected his materials and slipped them into his backpack, and then he very carefully slid out of his seat, and then he very carefully aimed a punch at the cheek of the asshole behind him.

Well, that last part didn't end so well. The asshole had evidently been expecting this, as Dan's fist was neatly avoided and Dan was instead caught by the elbow and slammed face-first into the hardwood floor.

 _Thud_ , went Dan's body.

 _Thud_ , went the asshole's body only a second later when Dan grabbed the nearest ankle and yanked.

“ _DANIEL HOWELL,_ ” went the teacher, which Dan found quite unfair, as he was clearly not the only one sprawled across the floor at the moment.

They were both sent to the principal's office. 

Dan had miscalculated feeling any fulfilment in his chest, as the only feeling he had right now was a dull ache where his breastbone had cracked unceremoniously into his desk leg upon a furious kick from the asshole. Their flailing on the floor had taken a full two minutes for the teacher to break up, and Dan had gained his share of throbbing injuries. He'd done his fair share, though, as the other was nursing a tender eye that was sure to bloom into a beautiful black eye.

They glared at each other in the secretary's area until the principal called them in.

"Why am I not surprised to see you two again?" was all she said upon seeing them. She rubbed the space between her perfectly-plucked eyebrows and then raised both eyebrows at them. "What happened now?"

A mutinous silence reigned.

"Sit down," she sighed.

They sat mutinously.

"Daniel Howell," she began.

"Louise," started Dan, in the same tone.

"It's Dr Pentland," she continued in the exact same intonation, "and I'd like to know what, exactly, persuaded you to attack the lovely Miss Fiona Lester?"

The asshole seated beside Dan cringed back into the seat. Dan refused to look over, just stared at the principal with a carefully bored expression plastered across his face.

Dr Pentland kept his gaze for a moment, and then she sighed deeply and turned to Fiona. "And you? You're both troublemakers. You’re constantly on your phone in class and Dan is always drawing and not paying attention to his teachers. I'm sure that Dan didn't decide, out of the kindness of his heart, to paint your face instead of his sketchbook."

As if she hadn't remembered until just then, Fiona touched careful fingertips to the bruise slowly blooming beneath her eye. She winced, then tossed a long, wavy lock of dark hair over her shoulder and stared ahead with uncanny amusement. A deliberate shrug, then a sly glance sideways at Dan.

Dan ripped his gaze away from her and glowered at the floor. He definitely had not been watching her.

"What did I do to deserve this?" Dr Pentland buried her face in her hands. The words were almost indecipherable, muffled. "Oh, god. Are my kids going to be like this when they get to sixth form?"

Dan and Fiona took the chance while she wasn't looking to exchange mutual sneers. Fiona's was considerably more impressive, Dan noted, but that didn't damper his resolve. They hastily looked back at Dr Pentland when she lifted her head.

"Alright," she said, and then nodded, firmly. "Alright. I've had enough of this. Ever since you two began this year, you've been at each others' throats. It's quite time for this to end."

Incorrect, Dan thought with glee. He and Fiona had been at each others' throats since they were twelve and thirteen, respectively. They just hadn't physically tussled in school until sixth form. It was a perfect, mutual hatred. Dan didn't think many other 16-year-olds could say that they had a real-life, mortal enemy.

At least Dr Pentland was one of the few who _didn't_ insist that it was just sexual tension and that they would get over it soon enough. _She_ took their mortal hatred seriously. Well, if her almost-weekly exasperation was serious.

Besides, Dan would never be attracted to someone like Fiona. He may only be sixteen, but he knew what he liked, and that was not Fiona. Well, Dan maybe knew what he liked. He thought he knew what he liked. He didn't know what he liked, but it was _not_ Fiona.

" - and you're going to take a note to your parents, too," finished Dr Pentland, which was just about where Dan tuned back in, having heard nothing she had said in the past two minutes. She regarded them both sternly. "Understand?"

Fiona nodded. Dan nodded more apathetically, never one to be outdone even if he definitely did not understand.

"Great. Get your notes from the secretary. I expect you both to behave once you come back to school. I hope your time off will give you some time to think about your actions."

There was a pause, wherein Dr Pentland traded suspicious stares with both Dan and Fiona. "You're dismissed," she said finally.

Dan scrambled to his feet and for the door, but Fiona beat him. She yanked it open and waved him through with a wide, obnoxious smile. "Ladies first," she said, teeth bared. Her eyes were ferociously beautiful.

Dan threw himself through the door with aplomb and snapped back at her, "I'm a fucking queen, _thanks_."

They were suspended.

Dan wasn't exactly surprised when the secretary had scribbled something onto a note and handed it to him. "I already emailed it to your parents," she told him with a too-smug expression as if to tell him that _Yeah you can't get out of talking to them_. Dan had just yanked the paper from her hand and shoved it in his pocket with no regard for its carefully-folded lines. 

Fiona had elbowed him aside and the secretary had begun to rise from her seat, alarmed at the prospect of another fight, but Dan just scoffed and turned his back, grabbing his backpack from the seat he'd been waiting in earlier. He'd left much less dramatically than he'd hoped, as the door slid shut with a quiet _hush_ instead of slamming.

He'd stood defiantly on the kerb for a good ten minutes before giving in and dialling his mum. Fiona had passed him with an air of disinterest, but when she'd peeled out of the parking lot in her old, rumbling car, she'd waved two very specific fingers out of the window at him and just laughed when he returned them. Dan had only been left with the superimposed image of her open, crooked grin and sleek hair whipping around her face. He hated her.

"Dan?" said his mum when she answered, but it was more resigned than anything else. She already knew why he would be calling at nine in the morning on a school day.

"I'm suspended," he said, voice still brittle from the hoarse memory of screeching when Fiona had yanked on his hair during the fight.

She sighed. "I'll call your dad. He'll get there sooner."

"Thanks," he said reluctantly. He kicked the kerb with the tip of his worn Vans. They scuffed a little more than they already were.

"We'll talk when I get home from work," she promised, "just...do your homework, okay? Don't let it be like last time."

Last time meant the one-day suspension a few months ago. Dan had walked the three miles from his house to Fiona's and hurled tiny rocks at her bedroom window until she'd yanked it open. He'd generously exchanged the rocks for eggs, gratified immediately by her shrill screams.

No one seemed to remember that Fiona had returned the favour when she slipped a rotten egg in Dan's bag a few days later. No one remembered _her_ part of anything.

Dan hung up without saying good-bye to his mum. His phone chimed a moment later with a text from her. _Stay out front & text me when yr dad gets there_.

 _Fine_ , he texted back, then shoved the phone deep into his pocket and glared at the empty parking space that Fiona's car had vacated until his dad arrived.

"Homework," his dad reminded him one more time before rolling up his window and peeling away from the kerb in front of their house, on his way back to work. Dan glowered after him and whirled to make his way into the house. _Their_ front door slammed, at least, which left Dan with a burning fragment of pleasure as he stormed toward his room. He hurled his backpack onto his bed, then made his way back to the front room and into the kitchen. Raiding the pantry and the fridge yielded a chunk of cheese, a bag of crackers, and a chilled half-bottle of Ribena.

Dan had mostly calmed down by the time he'd eaten most of the cheese and crackers and the Ribena bottle was empty. He'd sprawled on the chair in his room, slumped over the spoils he laid out across his desk. Brushing the crumbs off his open laptop, he apathetically watched them bounce to the floor and nestle between the curls of carpet. Future Dan could deal with it.

Sometimes, Dan wished he had even one real friend. He didn't think a gaggle of casual acquaintances who didn't even really know him counted as friends. His self-named mortal enemy certainly didn't, although sometimes it felt like she knew him better than his friends did.

A good two hours passed as Dan lazily scrolled through his Tumblr dashboard, occasionally reblogging or liking a post. He briefly considered doing his homework, but he had three full days to do that now. He briefly considered collecting some eggs and going for a walk but decided he was in enough trouble as it was. Fiona might not even be home, too.

It was only when the clock above Dan's desk clicked as it hit noon that Dan glanced up and noticed how much time had passed. He scowled at the clock and rebelliously continued scrolling through Tumblr.

_Need Freinds?_

Dan stopped scrolling.

He didn't know if it was the typo, the horrific bouncing image of two generic white girls smiling brightly at each other, or even the advertisement itself that made him do a double-take.

"Who the hell wants to make friends?" he said aloud. "And especially on Tumblr. These advertisers should know better."

He rolled his eyes and resolutely continued scrolling.

Two minutes and twelve posts passed, and then Dan scrolled back up to the advertisement. The two girls were still grinning at each other, their falsely-white teeth gleaming. One was curling her hands in the shape of a heart.

It was disgusting, Dan resolved, and he clicked on the ad. It was purely for the irony of such a decision, of course.

The ad popped open a new tab, which rapidly cycled through a few sponsored links and subsequently, briefly panicking Dan as he thought frantically that it must have been a virus and oh, he'd fucked up now. Finally, the link settled on the homepage of a website that declared 'FRIENDS on Fleek - _Find the FRIEND For You!_ ' It was suitably themed, with overly bright colours and cheerful anecdotes from people who had supposedly used the website and found 'friend' matches.

 _We're location-based!_ declared the 'About' section about halfway down the homepage. _We guarantee that your BFF won't be halfway across the world, so you can eventually meet them in person with no problems! Find your FRIEND match now!'_

Definitely disgusting, Dan decided.

He clicked on the 'Sign Up' button in the top right corner. Just for the irony, of course.

He filled out the forum that asked for a username and password, his name, which he simply put as 'Bear,' age, gender options - She/Her, Him/His, They/Theirs, and a personalized option made some small part of Dan a little more interested in the website - and a brief biography. Dan put "lol rawr xD" in the biography and laughed for a solid two minutes before clicking to the next page. This one asked for his favourite songs and bands, favourite foods, and about fifty other random questions that Dan mostly skimmed. This probably-a-scam website had a considerable amount of effort put into it. Dan wasn't sure whether to be worried or impressed at the detail they'd invested.

The last page asked him for a profile picture and to reveal his location.

 _This information is secure_ , promised the website, as any scam website would likely promise, _but to make sure no one lies about their location, you must activate the location tracker on your device. This is similar to location-based dating apps such as Tinder but is much vaguer. Your location will be in a general 50-mile area._

 _However_ , continued the cheerful, almost blindingly-bright font a few lines down, _you do not need to share a profile picture if you do not feel comfortable! Please check 'Decline' to decline this option._

Dan considered the warnings his parents had given him for the past sixteen years of his life about revealing his location and picture to strangers. He considered the talking to he was going to get tonight about his suspension, and decided to - _ironically_ , he insisted to himself - only obey half of the warnings.

He revealed his location, but he clicked the Decline button for the profile picture.

 _Congratulations!_ chimed a message as soon as the screen had finished loading, absorbing his personal information into the Matrix, probably. _You're in our system to find a FRIEND! Please be safe when meeting all new FRIENDS._

"Gross," said Dan. 

The new personalized page showed his profile and a few options in the website page bar to 'Upgrade' his account. There was a notification bar in the upper-right corner and a tiny envelope icon, which Dan assumed was for messages from "FRIENDS," he announced, loud in the silent house.

 **0 New Matches** , said the notification bar when he clicked on it.

Dan scoffed. Of course there were zero matches. Even a scam website couldn't find a fake friend for Dan. Then again, it probably wanted him to 'Upgrade' his account.

"Nice try," Dan told the website. "I have exactly enough money for the music festival in three weeks, and I doubt I'll be getting anymore for another month or two because my parents are mad at me now. I'm not upgrading shit."

The website automatically refreshed.

Dan just blinked at it. "The fuck? Are you trying to communicate with me?"

The website unhelpfully did not do anything else. Dan squinted at it and slowly moused over to click on the notification bar.

 **1 New Matches** , announced the notification bar.

" _Sure_ ," said Dan. He flicked the mouse, ready to exit out of the entire website, but his gaze caught on the notification again.

It taunted him.

"Fuck you," said Dan, and he clicked on it.

The page reloaded again, revealing a profile that was fully-fleshed out other than the profile picture, just like Dan's.

 **85% FRIEND match!** declared the banner above the profile.

Dan rolled his eyes generously and skimmed it. _Hi my name's Phil_ , said the biography, _and since you're probably a creepy stalker I'm not putting personal information in this, other than my favourite TV show because you need to watch it. Stranger Things is the best and oh I'm running out of space ok._

Name: Phil. Age: 17. Gender: Male (He/Him). Location: Within 25 miles. Inbox: Open to matches. Message "Phil"!

Dan scoffed, but he could feel interest stirring in his chest. He ruthlessly attempted to squash it, but the interest had no plans of letting go anytime soon. It persistently clung to the edges of his heart. He ignored the tiny envelope icon next to Phil's name which prompted him to initiate a conversation, and scrolled further down the page, taking note of the areas where they had 'Matched' up.

Mutual favourite bands? _Muse_ was the only band they had both listed, but Phil's list also said _Like 500 more I'm not naming them all._

Mutual favourite TV shows? _Great British Bake-Off Show, Breaking Bad, Sherlock, Queer Eye, Bojack Horseman_.

Mutual books? _None_. Phil had listed a few but Dan hadn't put down any of his. At this point where he'd been answering the questions, he'd just been trying to finish the form.

Mutual favourite foods? _Pizza_. Dan's had also said _Pizza dips_ , but he figured he'd let that one slide. Phil's also said _Sweets, in general_ , at which Dan crinkled his nose.

Mutual…

Phil had apparently given up on the other fifty or so various questions, as all of these were blank. Dan had filled out only a few of them, but he was disgruntled suddenly, that his lack of effort had been beaten by this guy.

Ah, Dan reminded himself, this _bot_ , probably.

He stared at the screen for another few minutes. He was waiting, although he didn't want to admit it to himself, for a message - even if it was automated - from the match. The minutes passed, and none came. The page stubbornly did not auto-refresh, so Dan did it himself a few times, eyeing the little envelope icon each time.

Finally, he heaved a deep sigh. Irony, he reminded himself. "Do I have to do everything myself?" he muttered at the computer, and then he clicked on the envelope icon next to Phil's name.

A new page loaded. An inbox this time, apparently. It was empty, but a new message opened, automatically addressed to 'amazingphil' and titled _"To my new FRIEND match Phil!"_

 _Ask your new match about one of your shared interests!_ prompted faded text inside the message box. _Or tell a funny joke!_

"Gross," Dan said again. He deleted the message title and replaced it with _"wtf is stranger things?"_ A few moments of rapid tapping against the keys, and he had _'lol wtf is stranger things & why is it your favourite TV show? & whose fave food is just sweets and pizza?' _ in the body of the message.

"There," Dan decided. It was just rude enough to put off any actual humans that might be on the other end but random enough that a computer response would find it difficult to decipher. He hoped, at least.

He clicked the send button. Immediately, another prompt from the website popped up, glaring neon colours as it informed him that _Once your new FRIEND match responds, you can open the chat and talk with more ease! Until then, you are restricted to one message a day_.

Dan scowled heavily at it. This website was obnoxious and far, far too extra. He'd probably been ironic for long enough. It was time to shut this down...unless...well, surely it wouldn't hurt to ironically get a reply from a bot?

As if summoned, his inbox chimed with a new message. Dan stared wide-eyed for a long moment, but then he opened it, fingers trembling subconsciously as he clicked.

' _Stranger Things is the best TV show ever!!'_ declared the message, sender listed as 'amazingphil.' Dan blinked widely. ' _tbh you're missing out if you haven't seen it. And sweets are a perfectly normal food! whose favourite foods are just pizza and pizza dips? I'm concerned for your safety'_

Dan heaved in a breath. He heaved another. He reached for the keyboard, but his hands disobeyed him and instead yanked the laptop screen down. It thudded shut with a resounding _bang!_

"I'm going to get murdered," he announced to the empty room.


	2. exodus

"But _Mum!_ "

"Don't ' _But Mum_ ' me!" Dan's mum stood in front of the dining table, fists clenched on her hips like a warrior preparing to charge into battle. "You know what I said yesterday, and the day before that, and the day _before that!"_

Dan slumped in his seat, eyebrows furrowed furiously. His arms were crossed, shoulders hunched as he scowled up at his mum. "I've been planning to go for _months_! You can't just stop me from going, I have plans!"

"I am not stopping you from going," she barked, "but if you keep on like this, then I _will_. I said you could go on Sunday and not the entire weekend!" She whirled to her husband, who was sitting demurely as he munched on toast. "Back me up!"

Dan's dad glanced up, gaze flicking between both of their set stances. He sighed. "Dan, just because it's been three weeks since your suspension doesn't mean you're not grounded. I'm sorry, but you should have thought about this before you decided to tussle with a girl. In class, no less."

Dan's mum nodded in approval, but then her eyes narrowed, so he hastily added, "Anyone, I mean. Tussled with anyone."

"Fiona isn't grounded!" Dan burst out, but he shrank back into his seat when his mum's dangerously-slitted gaze swivelled to him.

"You're not going with your friends," she said with an air of finality. "I'll take you up there Sunday morning and you can spend all day there, but you're not staying the entire weekend. That's the day when your favourite band is playing anyway. You'll be home by midnight. And _that's_ my decision. You can either accept it or not go at all."

Dan shoved his half-eaten plate away from him with a clatter, and then he stormed to his room. His lip stung with his effort to stay silent, teeth digging into it. He threw himself down upon his bed once he got there, the surge of fury he'd been maintaining throughout that entire conversation now beginning to fade once he had a few rooms and a slammed door between him and his parents.

This annual weekend festival was the biggest music event of the year, at least for Dan. He had been looking forward to it the instant he'd left last year's festival, head whirling and heart pumping dangerously from the thrill of the drumbeats. He'd planned for _months_ with his friends, their car ride and clothes and snacks sorted down to the last detail. Sure, they weren't all the closest of friends, but they were mates who liked the same sort of music that Dan liked, and that really all that mattered. One of them had an older sister who was going to the festival and she'd offered her car as a ride for the small group of friends, so it had all finally fallen into place.

It was all for nothing, now. Dan couldn't go with them. The comradery of the trip would be meaningless if Dan showed up on the last day of the festival. The others would have already bonded and had fun without him, and Dan doubted that he'd be seamlessly accepted into the group once he'd missed most of the action. Sure, Muse was Dan's favourite band, but they certainly weren't the _only_ band he liked. He'd miss two full days worth of bands and singers.

It was Wednesday, and Dan had been alternating between arguing and pleading for the past week to convince his parents to let him go on Friday. He doubted it would happen now, with only one day between him and the first festival day.

Dan got up and opened his door just to slam it again. His mum's voice rose somewhere in the house, but he flipped the lock and ignored her. He crossed the room and threw himself into his seat at the desk, yanking open his laptop.

It took less than ten seconds to send a quick _can't go friday, parents are fucking arses. b there sunday_ to his mates' group chat, and then he closed it out and resolved to ignore them until the day actually came. A small part of him whispered that maybe, just maybe, they would be glad he wasn't coming. They'd have more fun without him anyway.

Dan opened his browser. With slow fingers, he tapped in a website URL. Before he'd even gotten five characters typed, the browser auto-filled the rest. He had, perhaps, been visiting this website multiple times a day for the past few weeks. It wasn't even a porn website.

It loaded, bright colours immediately assaulting Dan's vision. He blinked away the spots that invaded his sight, mousing over the page to click on the uppermost right corner, a speech bubble that had been revealed after a few mutual messages back and forth with a certain correspondent.

The FRIEND chat function opened. A message was waiting for him, the sender 'amazingphil.' Dan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and clicked on his chat with Phil.

 _Agree to disagree,_ read the message in a bubbly font. _or! just agree. think about it: a shiba inu and corgi mix. I'd lose my mind_

Dan huffed a laugh without meaning to do so. He hadn't meant to keep talking to this 'Phil,' but he'd been intrigued by the enthusiastic and carefree way the other boy talked. They'd shared many common interests and disagreed on just as many, but both provided topics with which they could converse. Some topics lasted a few days of conversation, while some only a few lines in the chat. Dan had long ago lost his resolve that this was a bot, or that he was simply doing this just to be ironic. He'd never before found it so easy to just...talk to someone.

 _sure,_ Dan typed as a response to Phil's message. _ngl if i saw a shiba inu/corgi puppy i would die for it_

He sent the message, then hastily added, _what would the mashup name be tho, shorgi? corgi inu? coriba?_

He scrolled back up their chat after sending that one, glancing over their past messages as he went. Dan thought, maybe, if he and Phil ever met, he could probably use some of these as blackmail for eternity.

 _What's wrong with it?_ read one of Phil's messages from Monday. _it's just easier that way, you don't get crumbs or chocolate all over your fingers_

_it's HELL. biting into a kitkat without breaking it is just wrong. i don't think i can speak to you anymore_

Dan snorted a laugh and shook his head, continuing to go further up through their chat history.

_i killed a plant this morning :(_

_wtf_ , Dan had replied. This had been last Friday, the first day Dan had begun begging his parents to let him attend the full festival. He hadn't been in the best of moods then, either, but it had at least been better than today.

_i didn't mean to! i saw a cute boy and panicked and accidentally stepped on a sunflower :((_

Dan remembered his hesitation then, his long pause at the open way Phil had typed that. Maybe Phil _hadn't_ found it that easy, maybe he had agonized over the message before sending it. Dan had no way of knowing. Not for the first time since he'd started talking to Phil, Dan had hurt with the desire to see him in person and just talk. He'd replied with a simple _wow, disaster_

 _:'(_ Phil had replied, and that would have been the last message on the topic, but Dan's fingers had suddenly worked faster than his brain and he'd typed disbelievingly, _wait, how tf did you step on a sunflower. aren't they fucking massive or summat?_

_D': it was a baby sunflower!! it's even worse_

_you're a monster_ , Dan had typed. His heart had stepped up a few beats as he'd added _no more looking at cute boys for you. they're all mine now_

 _nooo that's the only good part of my terrible days_ , Phil had bewailed, and Dan remembered that he had laughed out of the sheer thrill of it, the casual acceptance of a stranger on the internet.

A _ping!_ sounded from the browser and a tiny alert appeared. **New messages!** it declared. **Scroll down to view them.**

Dan scrolled down to view them.

 _shorgi!_ Phil had answered Dan's query about the hypothetical mix-breed puppy. _no, shinorgi_ , he'd added a moment later. Even as Dan was reading them, another message popped up. _Actually these probably already exist. I'm going to look them up, wiat_

 _wiat_ , Dan mocked the typo, but he waited. Phil sent a picture a moment later, a beautiful golden-haired puppy with a curling tail. It had a wide smile directed at the camera, eyes bright and intelligent.

 _I WOULD DIE FOR HIM. WHAT A GOOD BOI_ , replied Dan instantly, abandoning his aesthetic use of all lowercase spelling.

 _SAME_ , Phil enthused.

Dan considered punching his computer or himself, just to get the image of the puppy away from him. Nothing that adorable should exist in this world. Humanity didn't deserve it.

 _i want to eat him,_ Phil added.

 _weirdo_ , typed Dan, but he knew what Phil meant, and wasn't that the strange thing about all of this? It had been three weeks since they'd started talking, and Dan knew what he meant.

 _I have to do homework now,_ popped up another message from Phil. _send me some doggo pics to help me through these hard times._

Dan rolled his eyes, but he opened another browser and searched for cute dog pics, and he downloaded them, and he sent them to Phil.

He didn't realize he'd been smiling ever since he'd opened this chat.

Heat seared the back of Dan's neck as he weaved his way between milling, chattering groups. Music was a dull roar in the background, temporarily drowned out by the loud discussions all around him. The ground thrummed in the beat, beat, beat rhythm of the drums and the crowd's stomps in the Pit Stage.

Dan had just left the Pit Stage. Two of his friends were still there, jostled between screaming fans of The Prettyboys and doing their fair share of jostling as well, but Dan hadn't been feeling the usual buzz that came with listening to furious tunes. It had been just a little too frenzied, so Dan had simple squirmed his way from the heaving, bellowing throng, and made his way outside.

He didn't know where he was headed next. The rest of his friends were in the Dance tent, but Dan had had enough of flailing teenagers doing their best to embody their favourite dancer, so he wasn't going back after the disaster earlier.

"Sorry, sweetie," slurred a pink-haired woman as she bumped into him. Her makeup was sweating under the glare from the sun directly overhead, a more grotesque facsimile of the liquid pooling in Dan's armpits and making its way down his back. The woman disentangled herself with someone's picnic basket on the ground and left Dan, offering him a friendly parting wave and then chugging directly from the flask in her other hand.

Dan swiped ineffectually at the smear of sweat she'd left on his shirt sleeve, but then he gave up and continued on. He would go to the Main Stage, he decided. Muse would start in a little less than an hour and that's where they would be playing, so he might as well.

He'd arrived at the festival only four hours before, his mum dropping him off with a cheerful wave and a "call if your friends can't bring you back tonight!" and then a sterner "and you'd better be home by midnight," but Dan's stamina had worn down quickly. He wasn't sure if it was the lack of time spent throwing himself into every band's time on the different stages, unlike his friends, who had been here since Friday morning, or if it was the suffocating heat, or that he hadn't heard from Phil since yesterday morning. Sure, it had only been one day, but ever since they had started talking, they hadn't missed a day of communication. In any case, Dan's energy had dwindled, his feet ached, his stomach growled, and he wanted to curl up in the shadow of the nearest unused boombox and take a nap.

The grass bristled beneath his feet as he trudged toward the Main Stage. Despite the thousands of people packing it into the dirt beneath their feet, it was stubborn still. A few people had even spread blankets on the grass and were sprawled across them, sunbathing or just resting surrounded by the sparse crowd. Dan was almost jealous, as he could be doing the same if his mum had let him come Friday with the supplies he'd planned, but then, he didn't fully understand the appeal of willingly sacrificing oneself to be roasted beneath the scorching rays when a breeze, albeit a small one, could be obtained by simply walking and flapping his shirt back and forth every-so-often.

The crowds thinned as Dan walked further from the Pit Stage, but began to grow in size again as he neared the Main Stage. He was bumped into with every few steps he took, and while most people weren't as drunkenly apologetic as the previous woman, they let him sidle past.

His phone buzzed as he passed the entrance to the Main Stage. He finagled it from his pocket, wiping sweat on his jeans to swipe at the screen. It was a text from one of his friends to the group chat, asking where everyone was.

 _Muse in 40 mins!_ said the message. _let's meet at the front b4 we miss good spots._

Dan didn't bother answering, slipping his phone back into his pocket instead. They would find him soon enough, probably.

It wasn't that Dan didn't want to be around his friends, it was that...well, yeah, he didn't want to be around his friends. He had an awful ache gnawing at him, the feeling that his friends were having the time of their lives and Dan was most definitely not having any time of his life. It might have just been that Dan had been looking forward to this for an entire year and the experience wasn't living up to his expectations. Perhaps it was because he hadn't watched Muse perform yet and the experience wouldn't truly begin until then.

An elbow thudded into Dan's side, interrupting his ruminations. He winced and leaned away, willing to let the person go past him and further into the stage area, but he was only jabbed again, and then once more.

" _Ow_ ," Dan finally complained, and he turned toward his assailant, and then. He stopped. He blinked. He breathed. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Fiona scoffed at him. "Everyone in fucking England is at the festival right now, either here or in Leeds. As if I wouldn't be."

Dan recoiled, but he couldn't recoil very far. He hit the mass of bodies and came right back to his original position. "But you - " There was absolutely nothing that could have made this day any worse than it already was. 

"What are _you_ doing here?" Fiona retorted. Her hair was in a high ponytail, but it was bedraggled, falling in damp strands around her face. Moisture beaded on her forehead and upper lip.

She looked disgusting, Dan decided. " _I'm_ in fucking England too, aren't I?" he snapped. Another biting remark was on the tip of his tongue, but a guitar sang noisily in the distance, interrupting him, and the electric twang brought him back to his surroundings and out of his focus fully directed at Fiona.

"I'm not talking to you," Dan decided. He made to turn his back on her, but the hairy chest of a burly man was right in his eye line, so he turned back toward her and crossed his arms instead. "I'm here to have fun," he announced, even though he had not had any of that all day. "You're just going to ruin it, so kindly piss off."

She looked unimpressed. "As if I want to be talking to you, Hobbit boy. I'm just waiting for my friends to get here."

Dan glared. The insult hit home, making its way right to the curls on Dan's head. "I'm waiting for _my_ friends to get here," he said but regretted it as soon as he said it. Repeating what she said was a useless insult. He fished frantically in his mind for something with a little more bite, but Fiona beat him to it.

"You? Friends?" She laughed heartily, clutching her stomach and throwing her head back.

Dan did not look at the long, pale column of her neck. He did not look at the reddening patches of bare arm where her loose, eye-searingly bright shirt left little protection from the smouldering sun. He _definitely_ did not look at the tiny freckles sprouting on her cheeks, prompted by the heat.

When she finished chortling, Dan pointed out, "Your laugh looks so stupid. You poke your tongue out, like this." He demonstrated grotesquely, biting down on his tongue and crossing his eyes.

Fiona just laughed again. "I do not."

She did.

Dan's phone buzzed again. He scowled at Fiona and pulled it out, accepting the escape. It was just another excited message about Muse from one of his friends, but Dan tapped languorously on his phone for a good few minutes, attempting to appear absorbed. He hoped Fiona would leave.

She didn't.

"Why are you still _here?_ " he finally snapped up at her, shoving his phone back into his pocket with more force than it necessarily warranted.

"I literally just told you, I'm waiting for my friends. Besides, it's clearly annoying you. As if I'd go anywhere else when I could annoy you."

Dan sneered at her. She sneered right back.

They couldn't find much else to say, insults exhausted, for now, so they stood in silence, or whatever could be interpreted as silence with the distant scream of instruments and the loud babble of conversations around them. Dan's phone didn't really interest him, but he pulled it out again anyway, checking for updates about his friends' locations or how close they were from him. The closest of his mates was still a few minutes away, caught up in the straggling edges of the massive crowd centred around the Main Stage.

"You like Muse?" Fiona asked abruptly, and Dan almost jumped. He hadn't forgotten she was there, but he had expected her to respect the mutual silence.

"Yes," he said though, shortly, and opened the Tumblr app. He'd only scrolled through a few posts before he was interrupted again.

"What's your favourite album?"

Dan squinted at her. "Why the fuck do you care? What, are you going to find some way to mock me for it?"

She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "I'm just trying to make conversation, jackass. I'm bored."

"So? We haven't had a conversation in like…" Dan actually had to stop and think about that, "...I dunno, four years. When we talked about how my clothes sucked and then you pantsed me."

Fiona cackled. It was a truly malicious, rolling laugh that made something squirm in Dan's gut. He took it for disgust. It couldn't be anything more. "Ah," she said. "That was funny. You were wearing Winnie the Pooh boxers, I remember. I bet you still have them."

"I don't still have them," lied Dan.

"You do," she assured him. "So what's your favourite album?"

Dan considered answering it, but his suspicions were too great to allow him to freely give away such information. "What's yours?"

"Absolution," she said easily.

Dan did some more consideration and finally, he reluctantly allowed, "Origin of Symmetry."

Fiona nodded slowly, and something hopeful began to sprout in Dan's chest, but it was stifled upon her next words. "Absolution is better."

Dan scoffed and lifted his phone again, ready to continue scrolling, but Fiona added, "But Origin of Symmetry is probably my next favourite. Good taste."

He couldn't help his suspicious glare directed at her. "You're being weird," he finally decided. She _was_. Their insults were at usual par, but Fiona was acting differently, somehow. Dan couldn't quite put his finger on it. The crinkles around her eyes were less prominent, maybe, or her shoulders might be less tense as she talked to him. Something small seemed to have shifted in her, and Dan wasn't quite sure whether he liked it or not.

Fiona shrugged easily. "'M not being weird," she said. "I'm just relaxed. You can't punch me in a crowd full of people, you'll get tossed out of the festival."

"Neither can you," said Dan.

She waved a flippant hand. "I wouldn’t punch your filthy face anyway, I just did my nails."

Dan couldn't help a disbelieving stare at said nails, but he saw nothing other than the usual chewed cuticles and ragged nails. He would have been truly shocked if she had. Dan had never known her to paint her nails, not once since he'd known her. Makeup didn't seem to interest her either, as Dan had seen her wearing it maybe two or three times. It would be bizarre, he thought, to see her eyelashes as any colour other than their pale golden hue.

Dan wrenched his thoughts from Fiona's eyelashes. What the fuck.

Someone else jostled Dan, squirming past him to sprawl an arm over Fiona's shoulders. He was a little shorter than Fiona, with short red-gold hair and an easy grin that matched Fiona's. "Hey my little dude!" he enthused, rubbing his knuckles over her head and knocking loose another handful of strands to dangle around her face. "Finally found you!"

Fiona shoved him off of her, but a grin had spread across her face at the assault. "Get off, Martyn. Where's Cornelia?"

"She's hauling the cooler. We got beer - " It was at this moment that the man caught sight of Dan watching them, so he hastily corrected himself to " - water, that is," and winked, as if there was literally any liquid other than alcohol or sweat at the festival.

"That's Dan," Fiona said coolly, and made no move to introduce Martyn, but that was fine because Dan already knew her older brother. One couldn't have a mortal enemy without knowing their family members, after all.

"Ah, _Dan_ , _"_ said Martyn, and winked again.

" _Stop_ ," Fiona complained. She shoved him again. "Go help Cornelia, you nutter."

He left, shouldering his way through the crowd, and Dan barely waited until he was gone before repeating, " _Friends_ ," in the same tone that Fiona had used earlier when mocking Dan's friends.

Fiona didn't look intimidated. "Just because they're family doesn't mean they can't be friends, too."

"At least I have actual friends," said Dan, feeling like he was lying once more. This one felt bitter in his mouth, a reminder that he felt utterly alone at this concert. This brief repartee with Fiona was the most alive he had felt in hours.

A shrug. "Whatever floats your tiny little boat," she said. She stood on tiptoe to peer over the people beside her. The gesture only served to remind Dan that, while he stood securely over six feet tall, Fiona was only an inch below him. She towered over most other girls her age, tall and lanky and too clumsy for her own height. It might be considered endearing - _if Dan didn’t despise her_.

"Ah, there they are," she chirped, evidently catching sight of Martyn and Cornelia. She dropped back down and smirked at Dan. "See you at school tomorrow, Hobbit Howell."

Dan's voice failed him at the worst possible moment, at the time she was finally leaving. He had no witty parting remark, no snappy comeback as she ducked her way between two jostling shirtless guys. He could only watch her leave, mouth gaping uselessly as he floundered for something biting to hurl after her. Nothing came to him, so he had to just stare purposelessly as she vanished from sight.

As if they had been waiting for Dan to be free from the hold of his mortal enemy, two of Dan's friends arrived via a pack of rowdy teenagers, making their way toward Dan. One of his mates reached out and snagged his arm to haul him further inside the Main Stage. "Come on, man, we've got to get a good place before it starts!" he yelled over the growing crescendo of the crowd. 

Dan cast one look back over his shoulder where Fiona had disappeared, and then he followed his mates further into the people crushing ever closer to the stage. A crash of cymbals preceded his entrance and the crowd roared a unanimous approval.

Muse was here.


	3. leviticus

"Daniel!" bellowed Dan's mum, the morning after the end of the festival and, really, too early for anyone to be speaking. "Ten minutes, let's go!"

He didn't move from his slumped position before his laptop, fingers rapid over his keyboard as he thudded out replies on the chat feature in the 'FRIENDS' website. He had made two other matches in the past week, but had ignored them both and hadn't been bothered when he didn't receive a message either. Dan didn't think anyone could measure up to his current conversational partner.

 _No it's definitely a sock monster!_ read Phil's most recent insistent message.

 _you just don't want to admit that you lose your socks_ , tapped Dan immediately. His fingers hovered impatiently as he waited for a reply, which took less than ten seconds to pop up.

 _listen_ , the message read, and Dan could almost hear a stern, disembodied voice informing him of this, _my mismatched socks are an aesthetic choice. No judging!_

 _i'm judging_ , Dan replied. He wasn't particularly judging, really, but it was so fun to rile up Phil - and so easy, too. Dan lost his socks too, just not as often as Phil apparently did. Evidently, it was almost a daily occurrence with him.

A brief, intrusive thought informed Dan that he knew people in real life who lost socks, too. At the festival yesterday, Fiona had been wearing sneakers with brightly patterned mismatched socks. _Not_ that he had been looking at her feet. That would be weird.

 _:(_ was his reply from Phil. There was a pause, and then another message popped up.

_come on, you have to have weird habits too. not that wearing different socks is WEIRD. haha. tell me your secrets_

Dan snorted hard through his nose, and regretted it when it stung. He swiped at the burn and then typed out, _i have no secreets? I am the most well behaved guy you'll ever meet_ . The instant the message sent, his fingers spasmed with the sudden desire to take it back. Because, _you'll ever meet_ was an accident. Dan had known Phil for three weeks, and he certainly felt like he knew the other boy far better than any of his other friends, but something squirmed inside Dan whenever he entertained the idea of meeting this faceless friend. What if Phil _was_ just some old fifty-year-old woman getting her kicks by chatting with a teenager?

Well, Dan doubted that. Phil's knowledge of TV shows and video games was perfectly age-appropriate for a 17-year-old boy. According to the website, he lived within 50 miles of Dan as well, so there was still that tiny chance that Phil even went to the same school as Dan.

Dan, maybe, had thought about that, and had wracked his memory for any 'Phil's at his school, but had come up with nothing. It had been a far stretch, anyway. There was just that small part of Dan that desperately wished for an actual, real-life friend that he could talk to, and share inside jokes with, and laugh about ridiculous jokes, and play video games, and watch movies. He did that with his group of friends, sometimes, but it wasn't like Dan had always thought about when he imagined having a best friend.

That's what he wanted, really. A best friend. And wasn't that who Phil was shaping up to be? They already got along so well...but that could change if Phil actually met Dan. He might realize then, that Dan was the weird, friendless type of loser that actually signed up for a friend-matching website. Well, Phil had done that, too. Dan had a feeling that it was more because Phil was bored, though, and not for any ironic sort of reason.

"Dan, I swear to god!"

The yell from his mum broke Dan from his thoughts, and he jolted his concentration back to his laptop, where two messages were waiting from Phil.

 _no secrets, sure_ , read the first message, and then, _i still don't know your name lmao_.

Yeah, Dan realized. He'd typed 'Bear' as his username those few weeks ago. Phil clearly knew that it wasn't his actual name. Phil _didn't_ know that it was a cheesy nickname his parents used to call him. Potential best mates had to know real names though, right?

With that hesitant thought encroaching upon him, Dan quickly hit out an answer and then sent it. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing his backpack and shoes, and left to grab breakfast and head to school. The laptop, left open in his haste, still revealed the last message he had sent.

_my name's dan_

Dan hadn’t seen Fiona all day.

It’s not that he was _looking_ for her. Dan had no reason, none at all, to actively search her out. He wasn’t interested in what she was doing. Well, he amended to himself, it was good to keep tabs on his mortal enemy. So perhaps it was a bit concerning that he hadn’t seen her all day.

It wasn’t that unusual. They only had two classes together, both of which were on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Today was only Monday, so it wasn’t impossible that Dan would not catch sight of Fiona the entire school day. It was just...it _was_ Monday, and she had been acting strangely at the festival yesterday, and it was probably because of Dan’s lingering headache that thumped in quiet tune to the drums from the Muse concert, but he almost _wanted_ to seek her out.

It was foolish, of course. One shared moment at a music festival, still riddled with insults and clear distaste for each other, was nothing that could erase the years of mutual spite for each other. It was just odd. Dan may have been just a bit intrigued to find out why she had been acting the way she was. _Just_ a bit, though.

“Danny boy!” bellowed a voice down the hallway. It was milling with students slowly collecting their day’s items from their lockers as they chatted. Dan himself was standing in front of his open locker, staring bleakly inside as he pondered the Fiona conundrum. He let his gaze drift slowly toward the mutilated call of his name, eyes bleak. He knew who it was.

The boy jogged up to him a moment later, a grin spread wide on his face. “ _Mate_ ,” he said, “you gotta come fuckin’ see this.”

Dan didn’t particularly want to come fucking see anything, but he reluctantly shut the door to his locker and followed his friend anyway. ‘Friend’ was a loose definition of their relationship, but Dan didn’t have anyone much closer than his small horde of acquaintances, so he took what he could. This boy just rubbed Dan the wrong way sometimes. He was Australian, which wouldn’t mean much other than the twang of his accent, but he also liked to loudly introduce himself as ‘Sam the surfer!’ to everyone he met as if the fact that he could belly flop on a piece of styrofoam in water had earned him some sort of official title. As he couldn’t exactly ride any waves around town, he rode wheels instead, throwing himself with fervour down pavements and the occasional hallway on his favourite skateboard. He’d been adopted into Dan’s friend group when he’d almost run over Dr Pentland. That, at least, Dan could admit was funny. He’d seen the principal’s shocked face as she’d reeled backwards from the boy zipping past. Although it had morphed into irritation a moment later, the look had been priceless. Dan had snapped a picture of it. That single photo had earned his place in the friend group as well.

“You’re gonna love it,” Sam assured Dan as he trotted down the hall, waving Dan on impatiently. “The rest of the boys are already there. It’s bril.”

Dan hefted his backpack further up his shoulder and followed. Sam ducked around the corner and then into the bathroom. A girl squeezed past Dan to make her way into the bathroom as well, so Dan paused for a moment to let her through.

The school was definitely saving money on this bathroom. They’d slapped a unisex sign on it last year and shut down the other bathroom, claiming diversity for all genders. While Dan thought it was a great idea, he also thought it was bullshit. They could have very well made both bathrooms unisex, but had downsized instead. Now students were more cramped and the bathroom smelled even more like piss than usual.

“Oh, here,” said Sam as soon as Dan ducked into the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him. He thrust a slender object into Dan’s hand, then turned back toward the group of boys huddled around the corner of the room next to the line of sinks. Another boy was washing his hands next to them, but he just cast a curious glance over at the crowded corner and then left. The girl who Dan had followed inside slipped into a stall, the door creaking ominously as she latched it shut.

Dan only realized that the object in his hands was an uncapped marker when he made his way over to the corner and glanced over the shoulders of his friends. They were talking amongst themselves, but quietly and full of mirth.

“Hey, Danny boy, gimme a hand,” one of the boys called over his shoulder, and a few stepped aside for Dan to step through. He did so, but almost reluctantly.

It was then that he found what they were so focused on. Someone, certainly not one of the boys here now, had drawn a delicate, flowing transgender pride flag. The pink and blue colours were bold and bright, striking against the faded grey chalk tiles.

The boys, uncapped markers obvious in their hands, had drawn crude depictions of genitalia and scrawled slurs around it, but the largest defiant symbol was a massive circle drawn around the stolid flag and a slash drawn across that, clearly defining the group’s feelings about the matter.

“Bril, innit?” Sam chirped.

Dan’s throat hurt suddenly, for some reason he couldn’t identify. His headache, just background noise all day, came to the front of his brain with full force. He didn’t say anything.

“Come on, you’re an artist, right?” urged the boy in front. “I figured you’d have something great to draw. Like tits or summat, I dunno.”

Dan’s limbs were lead weights at his side, his tongue thick and useless in his mouth. He couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ do anything.

The latches to one of the stalls on the far side of the bathroom clicked, and like an encroaching train wreck, Dan’s gaze followed the noise. The door swung open and out stepped Fiona, hair loose and swinging around her shoulders as she did up her trousers. She glanced his way, clear blue gaze meeting his, and wrinkles sank deep around her eyes as she smiled deeply at him.

It was terrible. It was beautiful. It was nothing Dan had ever seen directed at him.

“Hey, Dan,” she greeted. His mind sank like a stone, diving deep into murky waters. He had no idea what was going on. He couldn’t even say “Hey” back to her.

Fiona didn’t seem to care, crossing the room in a few steps to thrust her hands under the tap and briefly scrub them. Dan felt a horrific rush of relief when she looked away from him. “Whatcha doin’?” she asked over her shoulder, reaching for the paper towel dispenser. It whirred, spitting out a short, ineffectual leaflet that she used to swipe at her fingers.

Dan did not reply, but Fiona didn’t seem to notice. She sidled up behind the group of boys, most of whom were utterly ignoring her presence, and simply peered over their shoulders to see what was drawing their undivided attention. Her height was more than an advantage here.

“Ah.”

Dan could only watch helplessly as her expression slipped from something beyond open, the first time Dan had ever seen such a light in her eyes, to a look that Dan could never hope to decipher. He had never seen this new expression on her face either, but it was so much worse than the previous. Her gaze turned back to him, searching his face for a moment, and then it fell to the marker still clenched unfeelingly in his hands. When she looked back into Dan’s eyes, it was with a level, clear stare of pure disdain.

“Right. Hope you have fun, then.” She turned on her heel and left, tossing the wadded paper towel in her hand at the trash bin by the door. It arched through the air and bounced off the rim, landing on the scuffed floor without a sound, but Fiona didn’t stop to pick it up, and she didn’t glance back at Dan once.

Dan had been motionless throughout this entire process, but it was now that he could feel the bile churning in his guts. His mouth reflected it, tasting bitter as he swallowed thickly. Some distant part of him acknowledged his own actions and repressed emotions with a mocking laugh. He didn't know if it was worse or better that he hadn’t said a word through this entire encounter.

“Come _on_ , Dan,” pressed Sam, brilliantly oblivious.

Dan dropped the uncapped marker in his hand. It landed unevenly and skidded across the floor, rolling to a stop against the bottom of the mutilated wall.

“I have to go,” was all Dan could manage.

He left.

Dan drank three full glasses of water, one after the other, as soon as he arrived home, but the dry taste in his mouth and the nausea brewing in his stomach didn’t go away. The glass clinked dully against another cup as he set it into the sink, bracing himself against the counter with both palms pressed flat against the marble. He didn’t want to understand why he felt this way, but he did. He understood too well.

This was the same all-encompassing self-disgust and hatred that had rushed over him the first time he’d heard the word ‘gay’ and realized it might apply to him. Now it was the other way around, though. That tiny symbol of pride, so stout and enduring in the “progressive” unisex bathroom, now stamped out so cruelly by the whims of sixteen- and seventeen-year-old boys who thought nothing of mocking the acknowledgement of someone’s identity. It didn’t mean anything to them. It meant everything to someone, maybe more than just one someone, in that school. And Dan hadn’t done anything to stop it.

The look on Fiona’s face had somehow made it worse. As if she, Dan’s self-proclaimed mortal enemy, had somehow seen something so disgusting in Dan that she wouldn’t even bother to fight back against him. She’d left. She’d given up.

She’d never, not once since Dan had known her, done that before.

“Hey, Dan!” called a voice from the living room. Dan had gone through the side door of the house when he’d gotten home, so he jumped as he realized his dad had been here the entire time.

He didn’t move from the counter. “Yeah?” he called back, almost reluctant. He didn’t want to move, a deep part of him wanting to just lie down for a while and not think about anything.

“Come here for a sec?”

Dan sighed and dragged his hands from the counter. The marble had been cold against his palms, almost grounding, and the warm air felt sticky against them now. He trudged to the doorway between the living room and the kitchen and leaned against it. His dad was sitting on the couch in front of the television set, a binder and various envelopes spread on the cushions around him and the coffee table before him. “Yeah?”

His dad spared him a quick glance, but then went back to frowning at the stack of paper he held in one hand. “You, uh…ah! Right. We’re going to a wedding next Sunday, don’t forget.”

“A wedding?” Dan repeated dumbly.

“Yeah, my work buddy is getting married - finally - and he invited all of us. Do you have a suit to wear? It’s a semi-formal event.”

Dan just shrugged. “Guess so.” He paused, still feeling that churning deep in his stomach. “Do I have to go?”

“Yes,” his dad said firmly. “We’re all going.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t as if Dan had any plans for that weekend anyway, other than playing video games until past midnight. “What time is it?”

Papers rustled loudly as his dad gave up on sorting them and crammed them into an orange folder. “Uh…” he said. “It’s...one. In the afternoon. Yeah.” He glanced up, then, and something in Dan’s posture must have given away how he was feeling, since his face collapsed into concern. “Are you okay, Dan?”

“I’m fine,” Dan said instinctively.

He looked dubious. “Here,” he said, and shoved a few envelopes to clear the seat beside him, then patted it. “Sit down, come on.”

Dan did not want to sit, but he did so anyway. He had to fish out a crumpled paper from between the couch cushions after he sat down, and he took his time smoothing it out so he could avoid the deep gaze of his dad.

“So,” his dad finally said. “How’s school going?”

“It’s fine,” Dan muttered. The paper was cool against his fingers, but not as much as the marble countertop had been. The faint scrape of the paper edge as he slowly dragged his fingertips over them was soothing.

“Making any new friends?” his dad joked.

The paper dug in a little too deeply, threatening a papercut, so Dan pulled it away. “Losing some, maybe,” he said under his breath.

His dad’s ears were too sharp. “Ah,” he said. “Having some disagreements?”

“You could say that.” Dan’s eyes stung, suddenly, and he blinked harshly. His nose burned with the effort to hold back his emotions. “Do you - ” he started, and then had to breathe heavily through his mouth before continuing. “Do you ever feel like you did something wrong by _not_ doing anything?”

There was no answer for a moment, but then his dad said slowly, “...Yeah, I have. Kind of recently, in fact. Why do you ask?”

Dan shrugged in response. His myriad of whirling thoughts and the sizeable lump dwelling in his throat wouldn’t allow him to say anything out loud, so he just folded the paper in his hands until it was a tiny square. He almost jumped when his dad placed a hand over his knee.

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about something,” he said, voice soft, and Dan wanted to hurl himself away from it. The nausea was coiling its way deeper into the pit of his stomach and he almost felt light-headed, even though he was sitting. There was something important about the tone of his dad’s voice just now. Something that Dan didn’t want to have to answer.

“You know I love you, right? No matter what. You’re my son.”

Dan just nodded. The corners of his eyes burned.

His dad’s grip tightened on his knee, and then, in an almost forced casual tone, he asked, “So, have your eye on any pretty schoolmates?”

Dan’s gaze snapped up to his dad’s, almost defensively, but the returning expression was nothing less than understanding.

“Any girls?” his dad clarified, and then, after a dragging pause, added, “...or boys?”

Something crumpled inside Dan.

His dad must have seen it, since he hastily said, “You don’t have to tell me! I know what it’s like being a boy your age, it’s just that you never talk about girlfriends or, or boyfriends at all. Or bring anyone round.” He tugged the folded paper from Dan’s punishing grip and opened it, smiling down at the creases. “I just started thinking about it because of the wedding, you know? My coworker is marrying his boyfriend - took him long enough to propose, yeah? - but I told him congratulations the other day and that’s when...well, it’s when I realized I’ve never said anything like that to you. We never really talked about that. And I just want you to know that...it’s okay. Whoever you love, I’ll love. Well, sort of, I mean, I still have to be your dad and threaten your dates, but I - ”

Dan threw himself abruptly at his dad and was caught immediately, although he was clearly startled. Dan wrapped his arms around his dad and buried his face in his neck, feeling the dampness from his closed eyes making their way to the collar of his dad’s shirt. He’d never heard his dad say so much at one time. It hurt, but like the cleanest of cuts, and in the best of ways.

“I love you,” Dan heard himself say, and felt his dad’s laughter through his chest rumbling against him.

“Love you too, kiddo,” he said.

Dan withdrew after a moment longer, swiping ineffectually at his eyes. “I have to...homework,” he said desperately.

“All right,” said his dad, and it was so gentle that Dan wanted to curl up right there, head on his dad’s knees, and have a sob like he was five years old again. Instead, he scrambled to his feet.

“Thanks,” he choked out, and then he headed to his room.

The laptop was still open from that morning. The screen was dark as Dan dropped into his chair before it. It was hard to believe that a little over three weeks ago, he had changed his life, just a little, for the better when he'd signed up for this cheesy location-based friendship website. He and Phil had talked about nothing but the most casual of conversations, barely touching upon subjects that could be considered thought-provoking in any way.

Dan swiped his fingers across the mouse trackpad, lighting up the laptop screen, and he entered his password. The website and chat screen were still open from that morning, revealing his last message that had given his real name to Phil.

There was a single new message from Phil, timestamped that morning. _hi Dan!_

Dan's eyes burned, but he had barely just regained his composure from the encounter with his dad. He swiped at the threatening tears, taking a heaving breath that did little to settle his nerves. Maybe it was his message this morning before school, maybe it was what had happened at school, or maybe it was what his dad had just told him. Either way, something inside Dan yearned to be let out. To be _known_.

Despite his longing, his fingers still hovered hesitantly above the keyboard. He wanted to overthink it, but he knew that if he did, he would never send any sort of message.

 _hey_ , he finally sent, a terrible opener. He added, _you up?_

It was four in the afternoon. Of course Phil was up. This knowledge didn’t settle the anxiety twisting inside Dan.

A reply did not immediately pop up, so Dan switched tabs to Tumblr and scrolled for a few minutes. His computer _ping_ ed, then, and he flew back to the website so quickly that he almost closed out his browser on accident.

 _Yeah._ Phil’s reply was almost lacklustre, a far cry from the enthusiasm usually conveyed in his previous messages. Maybe he’d had a bad day, too.

 _i have a weird question_ , Dan typed, and he worried his lip between his teeth before adding, _you don’t have to answer._

 _sure_.

_you...like guys, right?_

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation. _Yep._

It couldn’t be so easy. 

...Couldn't it?

Dan's fingers moved without his permission, daring to test the idea. He forced himself to stop after only one sentence, gaze burning into the screen like he could set the computer on fire and escape from this. The letters stared coolly back, almost appearing emotionless on the screen, but Dan felt that, somehow, Phil would understand the turmoil behind them. It was something he'd never said out loud before, much less typed out in a way that could be held accountable against him.

_i think...i do too._


	4. numbers

The first thing Dan did upon waking up the next morning, after slapping the alarm on his phone, was to crawl out of bed and blearily stagger his way to his desk. He felt a bit like death warmed over. He’d stayed up late last night - or early in the morning, depending on how he looked at it - even though he knew it was a bad idea. That one message to Phil had sparked an entire conversation, though. The deepest one they had had so far. Dan felt like his most repressed emotions had been scooped out of him and laid bare before an empathetic almost-stranger sort-of-best-friend.

Upon sprawling sleepily in his desk chair, Dan typed in his computer password and brought up the chat on the cheesy ‘FRIENDS’ website. He could see the last few messages exchanged between him and Phil, but scrolled up further to glance over some of the others. 2 a.m. sleep-drunk messages were terrifying to look back on, but these didn’t seem so horrible.

 _it’s not like a solid thing_ , read one of Phil’s messages, and below it, Dan’s reply.

_yeah but i’ve only ever felt like that toward guys and like one or two girls. idk. is there even a label for that?_

_You don’t have to have a label unless it feels right. i mean I say i’m gay because i want to but you don’t have to_

_idk_ , Dan had simply replied, and even now, in the sun-glare of early morning, he still didn’t know. He scrolled back to the bottom of the chat, to the most recent messages.

 _i’m so tired i should probably sleep lol_ , Dan had typed.

 _Yeah it’s a school night! rip to us_. There had been a long wait between that and his next message, where Dan had just stared at the laptop screen and been unable to think of anything original to say, but then Phil had added _going to sleep now i guess lol. gn!_

 _night,_ Dan had somehow managed to type without any spelling mistakes induced by his tired fingers, and then he had staggered to bed.

There was a new message waiting from Phil, time-stamped only a few minutes earlier. He’d probably just gotten up for school too.

_hey i just thought it’d be cool to text if you want? so we can message when we’re not just home :) you don’t have to if you don’t want! but if you do, my number is 01184 80222._

Dan rubbed his eyes, trying to smear out the sleep, before reading it again. _cool_ , he replied. He read it one more time. “Oh,” he said out loud.

He reacted instinctively, crossing the room to find his phone again and unlocking it. It took him less than a minute to save the number under a new contact that he called “ _phil the fellow nerd_.” He looked between his phone and the open webpage on his computer, and then he closed out the browser on his laptop. It would be easier this way, now.

He tapped on the message icon by Phil’s new contact and hesitated before slowly typing out a message. _hey it’s me, internet stalker dan :)_

With that, Dan shoved his phone deep into his pocket, tugged on his shoes, and headed out. He made it halfway outside before he realized he was still wearing his pyjamas. Today was going to be just...great.

“Hey, dude! What’s up!” To emphasize the greeting, Sam offered Dan a hearty punch.

“Ow,” said Dan mildly. He rubbed his shoulder and took another bite of his sandwich. “It’s...not up.”

Sam laughed and threw himself into the seat next to Dan, digging into his own lacklustre cafeteria meal. “Ready for that test today?”

Dan and Sam did not have any classes together. Dan also had no test today.

“Sure,” Dan agreed.

The clatter of the lunchroom was almost a dull roar today. It still felt heavy, oppressive noise pressing into Dan’s ears and against the mild headache that he was once again nursing. He probably should have grabbed a painkiller from his bathroom this morning, but he’d been a little rushed after his attempt at heading to school in his nightclothes. Now _that_ would have been a nightmare.

Another guy seated himself across from Dan, briefly glancing up and giving Dan a cursory nod. Dan chewed a bite of his sandwich and returned the nod.

“So, had a cool ride here this morning,” said Sam around an open mouthful of something that looked like mashed potatoes or glue. It looked more like the latter. “My board’s got a loose wheel though, gotta get that fixed.”

Dan took a loud slurp from his water bottle. “Yep,” he said.

“Talked to Johnathan too,” continued Sam, undeterred by Dan’s clear disinterest. “He went out with that girl Sam or whatever her name was and they hooked up in the…”

Dan set down his sandwich, tuned out Sam, and pulled his phone from his pocket. A new message from “ _phil the fellow nerd”_ was waiting for him, and a subconscious smile pulled at his lips as he clicked on it. This was his first message from Phil.

_hi, internet stalker dan. This is pretty convenient, totally not messaging in class right now_

Dan huffed a laugh and wiped his fingers on his trousers to remove any extra sandwich crumbs before replying. _don’t message in class you nutter, you’ll get caught and then who will i talk to?_

 _my teacher :D_ replied Phil instantly. _i’m sure you’ll get along great_.

 _ew_.

“Ooh,” said Sam. He leaned toward Dan, eyes bright as he tried to sneak a glimpse of Dan’s phone. Nonplussed, Dan tilted the phone away from him, waiting for a response. “Who’re you texting, Danny boy? Finally got a bird to talk to you?”

“Yeah, it’s your mum,” Dan retorted. The boy across from him slapped the table and laughed.

Sam snorted. “Sure, mate, have your secrets.” He chomped into another bite of the glue-like substance that coated his spoon.

 _dw class is almost over anyway, about to head to my next class_ , popped up a new message from Phil, and as if on cue, the bell on the wall of the lunchroom shrilled loudly with its obnoxious warning to head to class.

Dan climbed to his feet, shrugging his backpack over his shoulder. He collected his trash with one hand, typing out a reply to Phil with the other. _omw to class right now. english, gross_.

Somehow, this felt easier than anything Dan had ever done before. Messaging Phil wasn’t something that he dreaded, unlike literally any time Sam the self-proclaimed surfer tried to strike up a “bro” conversation. Even that nod with the guy sitting across from him had wearied Dan. These brief messages from Phil seemed to somehow have the opposite effect. Reading them felt more like a breath of fresh air or a sip of cold, soothing water than the draining outcome of most conversations. Maybe it was that they were just words on a screen, but Dan didn’t think so. Dan thought he might feel the same if Phil was standing in front of him right now.

He dumped his trash in the bin by the doors and headed to class, fingers rapid on his screen as he walked. Sam went with him, but Dan ignored the stream of chatter that was directed toward him. He navigated around other students with ease, making his way to the door of his class within a few minutes of leaving the lunchroom.

 _i have english now too lol_ , read the last message from Phil. _gtg now though, talk to you l8er_

 _the fact that you actually just typed ‘l8er’ disgusts me_ , Dan informed Phil. No reply came, but Dan had a feeling that Phil had seen the message anyway. _good luck in class_ , Dan added, then slipped his phone into his pocket.

“ - so I gave her my least favourite banana,” Sam was saying, and he laughed uproariously at his own uninteresting story he had just been relating to Dan.

Dan was about ninety-five percent sure that he had heard this story before. He hadn’t listened those times, either. He stepped out of the way of a passing student and gazed through the open door to his English classroom. A few people were still milling inside, so Dan resolved to wait until they left. He had no interest in starting a class before he actually had to join.

“Yeah, so guess I’ll see you later!” said Sam. He socked Dan in the shoulder again, which Dan did nothing but wince against. He had probably developed actual muscles from the daily punches.

“See you,” he said, more apathetically than he had even planned to be.

“Cool, I’ll - oh _damn_ ,” breathed Sam, and Dan’s attention was snagged. He hadn’t heard that tone since last month when Johnathan’s wealthy grandfather had bought him a cherry red sports car for his sixteenth birthday and Johnathan had driven it up in front of school to show it off to the groups of girls that hung outside after school. He had gotten a flat tyre the next day and hadn’t driven it to school since, but the appreciation from his friends had been enormously gratifying so he gave quite a few of them rides to and from his oversized house and the ice cream parlour down the road. Dan had not been one of those friends.

“ _Dude_ ,” said Sam, still in that same voice. He punched Dan in the shoulder again, but it was half-hearted as he stared down the hallway. “Look.”

Dan was already following his gaze. He felt his own jaw fall slack as he took in the sight moving down the hallway toward him.

It was Fiona. She was _different_ , though. She moved with rare ease through the sparse crowd in the hallway. Her shoulders were square, confidence evident in her posture as she strode toward Dan and their shared classroom. This clear self-assurance wasn’t the only change, though. There was an obvious change from only yesterday, where her disdainful stare had bored through Dan in the bathroom encounter. Her long, flowing dark locks were shorn. Instead of the usual cascading hair toppling past her shoulders, she had shaved the sides of her head and the top was styled only a few inches short, ruffled into a playful quiff.

Something burned hot in Dan’s chest. He swallowed harshly, unable to tear his gaze from the new hairstyle. It suited her almost unfairly, the short sides of the cut highlighting her sharp cheekbones and sloped jawline. Her eyebrows were still that pale brown hue, arched evenly over her cool blue eyes. Said eyebrows narrowed harshly as her gaze snagged on Dan. Her lip curled as she drew closer, but she didn’t speak a word to him.

“ _Hey_ ,” said Sam, unaware or uncaring of the crystal contempt obvious in her expression. “Cool cut, my dude. You look hot!” He nudged Dan, elbow digging harshly into Dan’s ribs. Dan didn’t notice, still staring unblinkingly at Fiona. “Doesn’t she look hot?”

“Hot,” Dan repeated without really thinking about it. Fiona didn’t seem to hear him, as she cast Sam a slightly less contemptuous look. 

“Thanks,” she said.

Sam beamed. “Sure!” he said. “So you’re a lesbian now?” 

Sam was a fucking dumbass.

Fiona’s gaze slid back to Dan, scalding him with obvious scorn as if _he_ was the one who had asked the question. “No,” she said, gaze boring into him, “I definitely like guys,” and with that, she swept past both of them and into the classroom, ignoring the other students still inside. Dan dreaded having to follow her inside.

“She’s totally gay,” Sam confidently informed Dan.

Dan punched Sam in the shoulder.

Dan was drawing a random person. He was _definitely_ drawing someone random. The quick strokes of his pencil over the sketching pad were casual and brief, etching out nothing more than the portrait of a sharp-cheekboned, slope-jawed, dark-haired, narrow-eyed person - “Fuck,” said Dan aloud, his pencil pausing over the paper.

“I’m sorry?” asked his teacher.

Dan blinked and glanced up. Ah, yes. He was in English class. His teacher stared him down, the marker in her hand hovering above the board. “Um,” he said. “I just...remembered an assignment I need to work on.” He offered a tight-lipped smile, which was returned with obvious gritted teeth by his teacher. For as much as she cared about him talking in class, she never paid attention to what he was constantly drawing.

“Like I was _saying_ ,” she said, turning back to the board, “we’re going to be going over these lines of poetry and…”

Sighing, but quietly, Dan frowned down at his sketchbook. He flipped to a new piece of paper and lowered the pencil to it, but hesitated to start. He could hear a scoff from Fiona in the seat behind him, and yet no kick was offered to his seat. She hadn’t started anything since their suspension, but she’d at _least_ slipped him some cutting insults when the teacher’s back was turned. Now, he got nothing but huffs.

Dan tried again, this time an ambiguous sketch of a teenager sprawled across a bench. He grew the outlines of long, lanky limbs, a very _male_ torso and lower appendages, and slender calves and feet. Once he got to the face, his pencil moved without his permission, detailing the long nose, sharp eyes, and arched eyebrows of - _Fiona._

 _Motherfucker_.

Dan was tempted to rip out the page, but that would draw too much attention, so he just angrily folded over the page to a fresh paper and dropped his pencil on his desk.

 _Bzzz._ His phone vibrated briefly with a notification, warm against his leg where he’d tucked it when he sat down. Dan tried to ignore it, but it buzzed again a moment later. And then again. At least it wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear, not even Fiona, who had keen ears and was right behind him.

Well. He couldn’t draw anything, if Fiona’s face was going to invade everything he worked on, so he might as well. He watched the teacher, but her back was still turned as he slipped careful fingers beneath his thigh to slip his phone out. He placed it atop his sketchbook and half-closed the book over it. It was extremely unsubtle, but at least his teacher wouldn’t immediately be able to tell what he was doing. He still kept an eye on her as he swiped at his phone, though.

Three messages from Phil were waiting for him.

_Bored_

_booored_

_dan entertain me_

Dan had to physically force himself not to laugh as he painstakingly typed out a reply. _what, i’m in class. i can’t just leave to talk to you_

Only a few seconds passed before a reply popped up. _Lame. don’t you know that’s your sole purpose for existence, to talk to me?_

This was terrifying, Dan decided, but it was fantastic. He and Phil had talked so much before and after school, whenever Dan could get his hands on his computer, but now they could actually talk in class. 

_besides, I’m in class too,_ came in another message from Phil. _living life on the edge, that’s me_

_if you get caught i’m going to laugh at you_

_I am the sneak master I would never get caught_ , Phil replied confidently.

“ _Excuse_ me!” barked their teacher from the front of the room. “Are you on your phone in class?”

Dan carefully did not react, letting his fingers slip away from his phone and slowly lifting his eyes to stare at her with a level gaze. He could still see the glare of the phone out of the corner of his eye, lighting up the pale pages of his sketchbook that were drooping over it.

But she wasn’t looking at him. She crossed the length of the room in a quick dozen strides, pausing next to Dan’s desk to stare behind him. “Miss Fiona,” she said sternly. “You know the rules.”

“Sorry,” said Fiona, in the most insincere tone Dan had ever heard in his life. The teacher apparently accepted it though, as she just nodded.

“Put it away. If I see it again, I’ll confiscate it until the rest of class.” With that, she turned and made her way back to the board.

Dan finally breathed. He couldn’t dare keep texting Phil now, since his teacher would be on high alert for the rest of class. He spared a quick glance at his phone, though, but didn’t see anything from Phil. Maybe the other boy had finally realized the danger of texting in class. Dan snuck the phone from his sketchbook to its original place beneath his thigh.

Although he waited for it, no other messages buzzed the phone against his leg for the rest of class.

Dan’s morning had been rushed, obviously, but there were four items he had not let himself forget. They were currently crammed into the bottom of his backpack. He’d left his English textbook - it hadn’t even been needed this class, anyway - at home so they could fit. They rattled together, quietly but still noticeable, as he slowly climbed to his feet.

He’d been sitting on this toilet for the past thirty minutes after his last class. Dozens of other students had come in and out of the bathroom since then, but the rush had slowed to a trickle and now it was finally empty as everyone left school for the day.

Dan’s ass was fully numb at this point, so he kicked his legs out in ways that probably would have looked hilarious if anyone had seen him as he ducked out of the stall and made his way across the room. He locked the door and reached high above one of the sinks to crack open the tiny window that led outside, and then he took a moment to take a breath and glance around the room. It still smelled heavily of piss and the five stalls, three sinks, and two urinals were still varying shades of ugly grey, matching the walls.

His phone chirped in his pocket. He’d taken it off vibrate once he left class, and had spent most of his time hiding in the stall earlier by texting Phil. Just the usual, mundane, hilarious, witty messages that left Dan feeling like a weight had been dragged from his chest. But that was beside the point.

 _Just got home_ , said Phil’s most recent text when Dan dug his phone from his pocket and glanced at it. _time for homework :(_

 _ha, good luck_ , Dan replied. He put the phone back and then shook out his arms, brushing his thumbs over his fingers anxiously. He was going to do this.

Hoisting his backpack into one of the sinks, he unzipped it and rifled briefly to the bottom before he found what he was looking for. It was a cold metal can, decorated with bright smears of colour and a solid grey lid. It rattled when he shook it. He placed it on the floor next to the wall that was violent with marker sketches, then dug a few more similar cans from his backpack. Each one had a differently coloured lid, one with pink, one blue, and the last one white.

Dan took a step back and glanced over the wall. The cans before it were full of potential, something fierce and proud inside of them ready to be released. The wall was ugly now, black scars of marker marrings its dull grey paint, the occasional splash of colour where someone had discovered a coloured marker in their bag. And there was that tiny trans flag, its bright colours muted by the slurs and graphic art scrawled around it.

If Dan was caught once he picked up one of those cans, he wouldn’t be suspended. He’d be expelled. The danger of it felt valuable. Adrenaline already sang through his veins, although he had yet to start.

Hauling in another deep breath, he let his chest expand and relax with the strength of it, and then he reached down and snagged the grey can of paint.

He began.


	5. deuteronomy

The next morning was a blur of drawing half-heartedly instead of paying attention, the mind-numbing droning of teachers, and a sidestepping game of avoidance with anyone who wanted to talk to Dan. He kept his head buried in his phone, which wasn’t hard since he and Phil were texting almost nonstop. He heard the whispers drifting around the entire school on the subject of the newly-decorated bathroom, but he didn’t go inside. He just waited.

He didn’t have to wait too long.

“Daniel Howell,” said a pleasant, yet stern, voice from the other side of Dan’s locker. The bustle of students moving to their next class was an indistinguishable racket around them.

Dan finished typing his message and sent it before slowly closing the door to his locker. It did not slam. “Yes?” he asked back, just as pleasant, but the principal did not look amused.

A finger quirked at him. “Come with me,” Dr Pentland said. She turned without waiting for a reply. He followed, slipping his phone into his pocket.

A minute later found him sitting slack-limbed in Dr Pentland’s office a few hallways away from his locker. He watched with disinterest as she settled into her cushioned chair. The one beneath him was hard, cold wood, no doubt intended to make the person sitting on it as uncomfortable as possible.

“Now,” said Dr Pentland, folding her hands in front of her on her desk and fixing Dan with a cool stare, “I’ve talked to a few people already about the vandalism that occurred in one of the restrooms on the far side of the school. I’m sure you’ve already heard about it.”

Dan blinked slowly at her and did not answer, but she was nonplussed. “I know that you’re...quite the artist, so even if you’re not the vandal, I’m sure you might know someone who was interested in this particular section of creative arts. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble for something that another person committed, of course, and I know you wouldn’t want another mark on your record.”

“So you want me to tell you who spray-painted a full wall of colours that happen to resemble a trans flag?” asked Dan.

Her gaze was clear. “I’d like for you to tell me who caused the markings that the trans flag was painted over. I’m only one person, you see, and as much as I love going into rank teenager bathrooms, I don’t have the time. Therefore, I don’t see the chaos until something big brings enough attention to it. I might not have known what was there now, but I’ve heard enough from other students that I’ve been talking to this morning.”

Dan considered this for a long moment, but he finally shrugged. “I don’t know. Looks cool now, though,” as if he had not been more than a casual observer, “is it going to be taken down?” He tucked his fingers, stained with pink, blue, and white paint, beneath his legs. They felt heavy with the weight of the memory of working for over two hours on the wall art while the school settled quiet around him.

Dr Pentland finally smiled, the small expression breaking the stern set of her stare. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we have the funds for a bucket of paint to cover that up. We’ll have to leave it up for now, but I’ll certainly get right on that.”

Although Dan refused to like her, he could feel respect stirring somewhere deep in his chest. He couldn’t show it, though, so he just shrugged and picked at a loose thread on the side of his jeans. “Cool. Is that all?”

She regarded him for another long moment, cool blue gaze searching him, before she finally nodded, apparently satisfied with what she found. “We’re done,” she confirmed, but then she pointed a long, manicured nail at him, eyes narrowed. “Now listen, if I have to call you in here _one more time_ this semester, you’re going to be in a _lot_ of trouble. Not suspension trouble. Worse than that, understand?”

For the first time in a while, Dan met her gaze without looking away. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he said, and he was surprised to find that he meant it.

Dan met Fiona’s level stare in the hall with an unblinking one of his own and then he continued on, heading out of school and toward home. He didn’t look back, but something had sunk its fierce claws into his mind and it wouldn’t let go. Fiona’s sharp cheekbones, casual tilt of the head, wispy hair against a pale neck, wouldn’t escape him.

_hey phil i told you about this person at school who i pissed off right? and then came out to my dad kind of i think and all that other shit that happened and then i graffiti-ed all over the wall of the school bathroom?_

_Graffiti-ed sounds gross. but yeah._

_i think i need to apologize to the person i upset. even if i didn’t do it on purpose_

_Dan…_

_i’ll let you know how it goes. wish me luck lol_

_I don’t think you’ll need it._

The next day, a headache had settled deep into Dan’s mind, twining around his thoughts like a virus and pulsing in time with his heartbeat as he got dressed for school. He could only offer his mum a half-hearted wave as he left.

The first part of the morning was a headache-induced blur, but Dan stole by the nurse’s office to get pain medicine, so by the time he made it to his second class of the day, he felt a little more alert, albeit tired for no reason that he could garner. He was already slumped in his seat, pulling a sketchbook from his backpack, before he remembered that he was in English class.

He jumped, almost involuntarily, as he craned to glance over his shoulder, but no Fiona was present. The seat behind him was conspicuously empty. His chest bubbled, impatient to apologize in hopes to calm his nerves, but class wasn’t the right time to do it, anyway.

Dan closed his eyes and pulled in a slow breath. It didn’t really help. Other students bustled around him, finding their seats and chattering with classmates. Their teacher wasn’t there yet, so Dan opened his sketchbook and the sharpest of his various dull pencils and began sketching. His hands trembled minutely, either from the dull thud of the headache behind his eyes or from the nerves twisting his stomach, but he forced himself to tightly grip the pencil and drag it in quick flicks over the paper. The lazy form of a figure sprawled across a car hood formed over the rough sheet. There was nothing _in_ it, the outline emotionless and flat, but it was something that Dan could focus on to help pass the time.

The eyes of this figure looked tired, though, and Dan could empathize with that. He filled them in, the grey of the pencil graphite etching a weary stare, and scribbled lazy eyelashes. The students around him quieted as everyone settled into their seats, but there was still a hum of chatter. Dan was curling his fingers over the slope of the figure’s neck when the door to the classroom thudded, and despite his effort to maintain his concentration, he looked up.

Their English instructor came inside, head tilted jauntily as she headed toward the front of the room. That wasn’t unusual of itself, but Dan’s gaze caught on the tall figure just behind her, head ducked and hands clasped behind a slumped back. Fiona.

“Good morning,” announced the teacher once she reached her desk, and as usual, her eyes narrowed at Dan. He defiantly dropped his pencil and ignored its skittering across his sketchbook. No one said “good morning” back, but their instructor was used to it. She did something different this morning, though. Dan watched as she stood wide-stanced in front of her desk, instead of behind it, and propped her hands on her hips. She surveyed the room with a quirked eyebrow and an unamused slant to her lips.

“Listen up,” she barked, and the room fell abruptly silent, the gaze of over two dozen teenagers affixed to her. She harrumphed. “Lester here has something to say to the class,” and yes, Fiona was stepping up next to their teacher, still staring down at the floor like the unending gaze could burn through it. “We’ve talked to the principal and a few other teachers this morning, so you might hear the same thing if you have another class with Lester. But if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it. This isn’t about you.”

Dan’s hand moved quietly to scoop up his pencil and he curled his fingers around it, letting the smooth edges dig into his palm. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the front of the room, and neither could any other students, apparently.

Fiona heaved in a slow, shuddering breath, finally looking up to survey the room beneath pale eyelashes, and Dan could see it from where he was near the back. He could feel the air in his own lungs catching in sympathy. The past few days of seeing Fiona in the halls, the confidence in every one of Fiona’s movements, crept in on him and he could only taste anxiety, the same nerves bubbling in his stomach making its way outwards. He wasn’t the one up there, but it felt like he was. The cold, metal edge of the pencil eraser bit into his fingertip.

Fiona took another breath. One more. Shoulders squared and jaw clenched. A warm blue gaze travelled the room. “Hi,” Fiona said. Lips quirked in a little smile. “I’m sure most of you know me, even if you haven’t talked to me, but I haven’t been completely honest with anyone here at school. So let me reintroduce myself.”

Dan’s breath slipped from his lips at the same moment the last words left Fiona’s. 

“I wasn’t born male, but I am. I go by ‘he/him’ pronouns. My name is Phil Lester.”

For the second time in the years that they had known each other, Dan saw a genuine smile break loose on his self-proclaimed mortal enemy’s face. It flashed clear white teeth, etched wrinkles around bright eyes, and forced Dan to blink rapidly to keep it from blinding him. He couldn’t look away.

“Alright,” said their teacher, standing and clapping her hands as it was evident that nothing else was going to be said. “Thank you, Phil.”

Someone clapped for a moment in the corner before quieting abruptly, but the tension was broken. A few people began talking to each other under their breath, the usual in this class, but Dan’s lips were sealed as he watched _Phil_ stuff his hands into his pockets and head toward the back of the room, offering a loose smile to everyone he passed. Only a few looked away from him, and Dan could overhear one girl whisper something to him, apparently an encouragement, as Phil’s lips stretched wider. He nodded at her and continued on, passing Dan and sliding into his seat with a flourish.

Dan slumped over his desk a little more, rolling his pencil between his fingers in a facsimile of interest for the lazy sketch before him, but his attention strained to the seat behind him, where Phil was loudly rearranging something. He could feel the back of his neck burning from their mutual proximity and only hoped that it wasn’t obvious. The nerves churning his stomach had settled for half a moment when Phil had swept past him, but now they were alive in earnest, battling against his ribs with a ferocity that had him pressing a hand to his chest.

And then Dan’s desk jolted. He heard a chuckle behind him and another, more careful kick, thumped against the leg of his chair. The vibrations burned into his thighs and back, somehow fighting back against the anxiety in his chest. The warmth in his neck travelled to his cheeks and he knew his face was burning as he ducked his head.

He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his lips, though.

Dan chewed on autopilot, but he didn’t taste the food he was eating. It was something tasteless and grey, shovelled thoughtlessly into his mouth and half-heartedly chewed. His gaze was fixed to the double doors on the far side of the cafeteria. The controlled chaos of a hundred students consuming lunch was a babbling stream in the background of his thoughts. Dan had left English class just as it ended, but he’d been to slow to catch Phil on the way to his next class, so he’d had to head to lunch. He’d caught one last glimpse of dark, quiffed hair and a laughing grin as Phil had vanished around the corner of the hallway while talking to someone else from their class.

“Hey, Danny boy!” A tray clattered to the table beside Dan, and he almost jumped, yanked heartily from his thoughts. He settled for frowning at the invader. It was Sam.

The other boy clapped him on the back and began digging into his meal with gusto. He talked around the bites he crammed into his mouth. “How’s it going? Didn’t see you much yesterday. Did you see that shit in the bathroom?”

Dan shuffled a few feet further from Sam down the bench. Any distance was better than nothing with him. He rolled his shoulders, trying and failing to discard the crawling feeling that came with the slap on his back. He didn’t reply, instead scooping up a limp vegetable and biting into it.

Sam wasn’t deterred. “...and then Johnathan said he’d ask around and help figure out who did it. It’s weird, y’know?”

“Sure,” said Dan absently. He was watching the open doors again. He didn’t know why he was - Phil wouldn’t be out of class for another ten minutes, at least - but every time someone dark-haired or tall or in any way resembling Phil walked through the door, his attention was yanked toward them without any conscious decision of his own.

“Oi lads!” another familiar voice interrupted Sam’s chatter. Two boys dropped onto the bench across from Dan and another slid in beside him. They dropped their trays to the table and dug in, beginning a conversation with Sam like they had been here this entire time. Dan sighed and sank over his meal, which was suddenly even less appetizing than it had been earlier. He kept a distracted eye on the doors while he pondered the fastest way to exit this trap.

He was given an opportunity only a second later, but he almost regretted wishing for it. One of the guys was in his English class too, usually tucked in the corner and obnoxiously ignoring their teacher with a bobbing head to the earphones he constantly had tucked in his ears. Dan knew his name with the vague knowledge of an acquaintance, but it wasn’t something he could bring to the forefront of his memory at this exact moment. When he started talking, though, Dan’s attention was snagged.

“Nah, Johnathan’ll be here later. But hey, did you guys hear about what happened in English class earlier? And another class, apparently.” He laughed uproariously, gesturing with his fork. A few mashed bits of carrot flew across the table and Dan watched them land on the top of Sam’s head as he bent to take another bite of his food. “ _Phil_ , eh?”

Dan’s hand tightened so suddenly around his plastic spoon that it creaked ominously in his hand. His mind reeled between both his classmate and the phone in his pocket, and he realized that he hadn’t talked to _his_ Phil since early that morning before his first class.

One of the other guys snorted, taking a bite out of his sandwich and talking around it. “Yeah, I think we found the person who did the shit in the bathroom? Fiona thinks she’s so cool, eh?”

More laughs of agreement. More loud chewing.

Dan’s stomach roiled and he pressed a hand against it, glaring down at his tray of bland cafeteria food with a look that he wished he could dare to lift and direct at the thoughtless group of chattering boys around him. He wondered if he would be doing the same thing if he hadn’t gone through what he had the past few weeks. Maybe if he hadn’t known Phil for years, or hadn’t met Phil’s older brother Martyn, or had never signed up for a stupid location-based friend website. He was different than he had been a month ago though, and Dan hadn’t felt it happening, but a feeling clawing its way out of his chest told him that he couldn’t just _listen_ to what was happening and do nothing about it. There wasn’t much that he could do, but there was something. That feeling scrabbled its way to his heart and clamped warm hands around the beating pulse of his life. The nerves settled abruptly in his stomach and his head felt clearer than it had in a very long time, the headache from that morning dissipated.

“He,” said Dan, too quiet to be heard over the chatter around him, and he heaved a breath and tried again. “ _He_ ,” he said, and all four boys at the table looked at him. A piece of lettuce hung unattractively between Sam’s lips.

“What?” said one of them after a moment.

Dan set his spoon on top of the half-eaten food. “ _His_ name is _Phil_ ,” he said, and despite his sudden rush of courage, he felt his hands shaking. He folded his fingers around the sides of the tray to hide the trembling. “And you might not get that, but it’s not that hard. He’s a fucking guy and you need to respect that.”

They gaped at him, every one stunned into silence. Dan climbed out of his seat, picking up his tray and clutching it to his chest.

“Also,” he added, something like glee bubbling inside him, “I was the one who painted the flag in the bathroom.” He waited a moment longer, absorbing their dumbfounded expressions, and then he laughed quietly to himself and left the lunch room.

It only took him a few minutes to make his way to the bathroom that he had illegally decorated. The bell rung as he headed out of the lunch room, so the halls were crowded and he had to manoeuvre his way around the rush. He didn’t think he would ever again talk to those guys that he had once called friends. They didn’t do anything for him, and he clearly had done nothing for them.

He texted as he walked, pulling out his phone and texting the person he had messaged more than anyone else in his life over the past month. He didn’t get any immediate replies, but he didn’t expect anything right away, in any case.

 _you’re not going to believe what happened_ _  
__so that person i fucked up with came out in class today_ _  
__and he has the same name as you_ __  
what are the odds lol

He almost ran over a girl leaving the bathroom, but she just raised an unimpressed eyebrow and held the door open for him to slip past.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing back at her, and that’s right when he ran over someone else.

Well, he ran _into_ someone else. He hit them solidly and bounced back, arms flailing for balance. Something in his backpack crunched ominously when he landed against the wall only a foot behind him.

The door shut beside him, the girl who’d held it open vanishing into the crowd outside the bathroom. Dan winced and straightened up, rubbing the elbow he’d banged against the wall alongside his backpack. “Sorry - ” he started, but then he saw who he’d run into.

It was Phil, formerly Fiona, formerly Dan’s self-declared enemy. He stood with an amused tilt to his lips, watching Dan with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Everything that Dan had ever known about him was the same, but it was somehow so different. That posture Dan had noticed before was just a new confidence that Phil hadn’t owned before.

Light from the small window in the corner fell across the back of Phil’s head, his shoulders, and illuminated a wide square of the wall behind him. It reflected the tall blue, pink, and white colours from the wall to cast Phil in a halo of bright colours. A perfect rectangle of the three colours was splashed across his cheek.

Dan couldn’t look away from the reflected light, or maybe it was the arch of Phil’s cheekbone that held him captive. “Hi,” he finally said dumbly.

Phil hadn’t moved this entire time. He cocked his head, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Hey,” he said.

“I’m.” Dan took a shuddering breath, and he remembered the past few days, and the phone in his back pocket, and the way his dad had talked to him. He opened his mouth, but nothing escaped for a moment, but when Phil’s open expression began to slide away, he forced himself to speak. 

“I wanted to - I _want_ to,” he corrected himself hastily, “apologize to you.”

Phil’s eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “For what?”

“For, uh,” said Dan, but all of the words he had tried to memorize, the half-planned speech he had arranged, flew away in the presence of the one person who Dan still wasn’t sure how to feel about. He scrounged for something to say, but had to take a deep breath, shake away the cobwebs threading his thoughts, and start again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “about being a prat the past four years. I know it was both of us, but I had a part in it, and it never should have gone on as long as it did. I’m sorry for punching you in class. Sorry for, uh...throwing eggs at you that one time.”

Phil snorted a little laugh them, and although he wasn’t smiling, Dan took that as an encouragement to continue.

“I’m sorry I got you into trouble as much as I did. I was young and stupid when it started, and I’m probably still young and stupid, but I don’t want you to think I hate you or anything. I...don’t think I actually ever did.” Dan heaved a deep breath and finally let his gaze fall to the floor, free from Phil’s unending stare. The linoleum was scratted and pitted with scars, stained suspiciously every few feet. By some miracle, the bathroom was empty but for the two of them, but Dan had no doubt that someone else would be ducking inside the bathroom any moment now.

“Is that all?” Phil finally said, and Dan’s head snapped back up.

“I - ”

Phil laughed, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I just...I should apologize too. It wasn’t just you. We were both involved and you didn’t force me to fight back.”

Dan couldn’t tear his gaze from the jut of Phil’s collarbone peering over the edge of his shirt. “Oh,” slipped out, but he pulled in a quick breath and added, “It...that wasn’t only because you just came out, though. I was already planning it before you said that.”

Smile wrinkles etched their way around Phil’s eyes, almost familiar with how often Dan was seeing them now. “Yeah,” Phil said. “I know.”

Dan just blinked at him.

“I should...probably apologize for something, too,” Phil added. “I mean, I didn’t know for sure until yesterday, when this was revealed.” He gestured over his shoulder, at the colours and pride sprawled across the wall for all to see.

“Oh,” said Dan, but he still had no idea what Phil meant, and it was clearly evident because Phil laughed quietly.

“I’ll show you,” he said, and reached for his pocket. Long fingers reemerged with a slender phone, which Phil unlocked swiftly and tapped at for a few moments, and then stopped and looked back up at Dan.

An instant later, Dan’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. He didn’t move right away, but at a tilt of Phil’s head, he reached back to pull it out. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he swiped at it and revealed a new message from his contact _“phil the fellow nerd.”_

_Dan Howell, you’re kind of an idiot._

Their gazes met, understanding sparking in one and warmth in the other. It all made sense now. It couldn’t feel more _right_.

“Oh,” said Dan, and he felt a smile breaking across his face. It almost hurt, the sheer surprise and joy making itself known in his expression, but it was matched by Phil’s answering grin.

“So,” said Phil. He moved for the first time since Dan had almost run him over, taking a few steps to stand just in front of him. Dan could feel the warmth of his body crawling across the distance between them.

“Friends?”

**Author's Note:**

> pls leave a comment with your favourite line, moment, or overall thoughts. i live for your feedback
> 
> also [reblog on tumblr](https://itsmyusualphannie.tumblr.com/post/189853684625/something-wrong-in-the-village) and dan will draw your favourite animal


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